


Say My Name

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, like REALLY oblivious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-18
Updated: 2013-01-18
Packaged: 2017-11-25 22:34:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/643671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Dean is oblivious and Sam's name is accidentally ruining Dean's sex life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Say My Name

**Author's Note:**

> I thought it was funny...

The first time Dean cries out “Sam” in the middle of sex, it's not surprising. After all, the girl was named Samantha—the fact that he hadn't called her Sam even once that night because it felt weird to be saying that name and not seeing a floppy haired man-boy staring back at him didn't matter to his rationale. He was caught up in bed with a woman: of course he was going to be calling her name.

The second time he says it, it's a little weirder. Sandra was close enough to Sam that it could have been a mistake, brought on by the hours every day he spent with his brother, shoving Sam's existence into every pore of himself, but there had been a feeling, something new swelling in his throat when that name worked it's way out of him. It hadn't felt like that name was the wrong thing to be saying; for a split second, the soft curves of the woman in his hands beneath him were what felt wrong.

Which obviously meant he needed to get more sleep or something.

By the time he got to the third woman, he was getting a little concerned. Tera sounded nothing like the name Sam. They didn't even begin with the same letter. And sure, they were both short names, close to the same amount of letters, but that wasn't really holding up as an excuse. Not when she's straddling him, bouncing on his dick, moaning loud enough to bring the roof down, and he suddenly realizes that the name he's wheezing out of his mouth (“fucking good, baby, yeah, Sam, fuck, Sammy”) is his brother's. And instead of that knowledge killing his boner, it makes him suddenly come, harder than he could remember. But maybe it was a phase or something. They'd been on the road for a while without a case. Burning some bones would probably knock this weirdness out of him.

Alexandria though (the hot chick who had offered her services in other ways after helping them research a restless spirit in that town)—actually heard him saying Sam's name. And it kind of sucked to be thrusting into her one second, and then being dumped flat on his ass the next—his cheek stinging with all the force a 5”2 woman could pack into a slap—while she pulled on her clothing and stormed out the door, leaving him only with the parting thought,

“Jesus Christ, if you want to fuck your brother, just go ahead and do it, you fucking freak.”

And therein lay the problem.

See, Dean did not want to fuck his brother. It was such an obvious fact that it shouldn't even have needed to be stated at all. The sun rose in the east, vampires were killed through beheading, Sam was an emo bitch, and Dean Winchester did not want to fuck his brother. One of the facts of life.

He decided to take a short break from hooking up for a while (who knew, maybe calling out your brother's name during sex was some sort of byproduct of having fucked too many women in a short period of time), and that was when he discovered that the weirdness was not limited to when he was actually having sex.

They were eating in a random diner and Sam was making these slurping, absolutely ridiculous noises around the straw in his drink, and Dean suddenly found himself wondering if Sam would make that sound while he was sucking Dean's dick.

Then they were in the middle of a case and Dean's eyes somehow got magnetised to the curve of Sam's ass as he bent over and he completely missed the ghost soaring out of the wall straight towards him.

And then Dean was untying the rope around Sam's wrists from the latest spirit that thought his brother would look good in bondage and Dean suddenly wanted to know what would happen if he just kept those hands tied together, pushed Sam's wrists up above his head and just went to town, Sammy all squirming and gasping and restrained beneath him—

So, yeah. Not normal.

The only explanation was that Sam was somehow messing with him, or that he'd been cursed. There were definitely fairies out there that were fucked up enough to think making Dean lust after his brother was funny.

“What are you doing?”

Sam was leaning out of the bathroom, steam curling in around him and escaping out the open door. He raised an eyebrow at Dean, who was on the laptop and definitely not looking at the line of Sam's wet collarbone. Nope. Not at all.

“What do you think?” Dean snarled. Okay, so maybe he'd been acting a little rude towards Sam lately, but since Sam was one of the suspects in this sabotage of Dean's life, he figured he was allowed to be.

Sam scrunched up his face.

“You're not watching porn, are you?”

“What?” Dean said, affronted (even though he might or might not have been doing that five minutes ago, when Sam was in the shower, trying to figure out if watching lesbians go at it would cure him of this problem. It didn't—all he could think about was Sam, slick and naked, covered in soapsuds, just one flimsy door and shower curtain away...). “No! I'm doing research, moron!”

“Research?” Sam said incredulously, waltzing across the room in his boxers. Dean glared at Sam's ass surreptitiously, mentally shooting Sam to the top of his list of suspects. “We're in the middle of tracking down that werewolf pack. We don't need to find another case for at least a week, nevermind right this second.”

Dean stabbed at the laptop mouse, closing the google search entitled, “supernatural creatures that might make you want to fuck your brother”. It had been useless anyway.

“Whatever,” he said, getting up and shoving past Sam on his way to the bathroom. “You better not have taken all the hot water.”

In the shower, Dean gazed down at his poor, sex-deprived cock, hanging like a limp noodle between his legs. Or a limp pool noodle, because Dean was no slouch in the size department. Dean chuckled to himself, then lapsed into sullen silence again. Thinking complimentary exaggerations about his anatomy was not going to help the fact that he had not gotten off with another person in practically a month.

At least he still had his hand.

Dean leaned back against the cool tile of the shower wall, spreading his legs slightly for better balance before he reached down and fisted his cock. It only took a few minutes before he was up and ready for business, each stroke of his hand sending waves of heat through his body. He pictured Tammy, a bar waitress from a few months ago, squashed up against the bathroom mirror, her legs splayed wide on the counter, her mouth open and juddering as Dean worked his tongue into the slick folds of her cunt. He could see her in his mind's eye, gasping and writhing, could feel his fingers digging into her thighs to spread her apart, and it was working pretty damn well to get him going until his thumb rubbed against the head of his dick and he heard himself hiss, “Fuck, Sam—”

And suddenly it was Sam in the picture, Sam on the counter begging for it as Dean ate out his ass.

Dean groaned, squeezing his dick hard around the base so he didn't just come right then and there, before he let go completely, pressing his hands flat against the walls. Great! Fucking great! Now he couldn't even jerk off without Sam invading his head!

Fury rose up within him, and before he knew it, he was turning the shower off, stepping out of it, and throwing the bathroom door open, storming into the bedroom stark naked.

“You!” he yelled, pointing at a dumbstruck Sam, who was now fully dressed, just zipping up his pants. “You are ruining my sex life!”

“I—What?” Sam exclaimed, his eyebrows flying so high they almost detached from his forehead. His eyes flicked down to Dean's crotch where his cock was still stupidly hard, wagging around like a dog's tail, and his face turned beet red.

“Don't think I don't know!” Dean insisted, stalking closer until Sam was awkwardly leaning back against the lamp in between their beds to avoid their bodies touching. “You did this, didn't you? You and your psychic mojo fucked up my head, and now I can't have any sex because I can't stop thinking about you during it! Well, fuck you, Sam! How does giving me blue balls help us work cases better, huh?”

“What?” Sam repeated, sounding breathless. His pupils were huge and black, and he kept licking his lips.

“Oh, fuck you, you sexy little bitch,” Dean growled, and just to prove his point, he dragged Sam in by the belt loops and kissed him.

And holy shit.

That brief image he'd brought up in the shower was nothing compared to this, to the wet, physical crush of Sam's mouth against his, his lips parting in what might have been an attempt at a protest, or just a gasp of surprise, but which only worked in Dean's advantage. He tilted his head and grabbed the back of Sam's to press them together harder, working his tongue along the inside of Sam's teeth, trying to scrape out every little bit of Sam's taste before he inevitably got pushed away.

Sam must've still been stuck in shock though because he didn't move when Dean slid his other hand under his shirt and roughly palmed the curve of his lower back. Dean awkwardly manhandled him closer to the wall, knocking over the lamp—whatever, it was in the way anyway—and lifting him up in some weird, sex-crazed burst of adrenaline to set him down on the bedside table, his legs spreading automatically so Dean could step between them. Dean felt Sam's arms come up around his shoulders, long fingers digging into the muscle, but he was too distracted with the way Sam's mouth had started moving against his to focus on that. Obviously Sam was trying to help, obviously he understood that Dean wasn't doing this because he wanted to, but just because he was under some weird compulsion magic or something...though why Sam would be helping if he caused it wasn't really lining up with any of Dean's theories...

Surely, this would work though, surely any second now the spell would be broken and Dean could go back to his regular life without Sam always on his mind...

But the first word out of his mouth when he pulled away for breath was:

“Sammy.”

Sam was staring at him, his lips pink and slightly swollen, and Dean realized that he only wanted to kiss him more now, not less.

Had he gotten this whole thing wrong?

“Jesus,” he panted, resting his forehead against Sam's collarbone. “Maybe I really do want to fuck you.”

Sam was silent for a minute, long enough for Dean to remember things like “brothers” and “not gay” and a whole host of other reasons why Sam would not be into this since Dean had been wrong and this whole thing was just a manifestation of his apparently huge fucking gay love for his brother and not caused by Sam's mojo or fairies—but then he let out a choked sort of laugh and his hands slid down Dean's body, one curling around his bare hip and the other tipping his head up so they could make eye contact.

“Well then,” Sam said, flushed and grinning. “Maybe you should get on with that.”


End file.
